


i can't trust anyone or anything these days

by wolfinglet



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous/Open Ending, Established Relationship, Licking, M/M, Set during 3B
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 23:05:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 700
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2446421
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wolfinglet/pseuds/wolfinglet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles has words in his mouth. He puts them on Derek's skin. </p><p>He's not the only one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can't trust anyone or anything these days

**Author's Note:**

  * For [burlesquecomposer](https://archiveofourown.org/users/burlesquecomposer/gifts).



> Title from "The Stranger" by Lord Huron.

“It’s a thing,” Stiles said, the first time he did it. “It’s a totally legit thing, I one hundred percent promise you, it’s legit.”

Derek let his head fall to the back of his couch, baring his throat for Stiles, always for Stiles, who was curled sweetly between his knees, folded down on the floor with his mouth pressed to Derek’s belly and his spindly gorgeous fingers braced on the tops of Derek’s thighs. His tongue traced letters on Derek’s abs at random. A-Z-F-K-L-W.

“You’re supposed to do that on someone’s clit,” Derek said finally.

He threaded his fingertips into Stiles’s hair. He had already, as was usual, lost the argument and was at peace with it, but he was game to keep it up for the benefits. Stiles, when he was rankled, even minorly annoyed, was a hundred times more enthusiastic, like he could prove Derek wrong with how hard he could make Derek come.

“Don’t try to limit my enjoyment, D. I’m entertaining myself.” Stiles bit down on the skin next to Derek’s treasure trail, then again. Then more letters. His name. Derek’s. Once he realized Derek was paying attention, Y-O-U-R-E-A-H-O-T-T-I-E-A-N-D-I-L-I-K-E-Y-O-U-R-B-U-T-T.

“Thanks,” Derek said dryly.

N-O-P-R-O-B-L-E-M.

It becomes a habit, over time. Not always during sex. Stiles gnaws on Derek’s shoulder a lot, when they’re watching movies or making lunch or what have you. Mostly he does it after sex, when Derek is face down on the bed, boneless and relaxed and smelling so strongly of the two of them. Derek will lie down or move over or turn his head, and sure enough, the soft warm wetness of Stiles’s tongue will find him.

Stiles says things, this way. Important things. It’s so ridiculous and time-consuming, but Derek finds Stiles talks better about important things when he doesn’t have to hear his own voice.

When Derek comes back from South America, it’s I-M-I-S-S-E-D-Y-O-U.

When Stiles begins to forget, when he wakes up places he doesn’t remember going with soil under his nails and chemicals on his clothes, it’s I-M-S-C-A-R-E-D.

Then the night after the hospital Derek comes home to find Stiles on his couch, curled shivering into the cushions, and the urge to gather him up and protect him is so strong Derek ignores everything else. He presses his face into the crook of Stiles’s neck and ignores how he smells like tacky hospital antiseptic and grave dirt and sickness. He knows Stiles is sick—Scott told him—but all that’s important right now is that Stiles isn’t missing anymore.

Stiles fumbles to touch him. “I need,” he pants suddenly, and rocks his hips into Derek’s stomach, pinning the half-hard line of his cock between them. “I need you, I need you, I need you. Please. I need to feel you.” His voice goes funny when he says that, but sometimes Stiles is funny about asking for things he wants, so Derek hums and acquiesces, strips his shirt off when Stiles palms his sides, lets Stiles slither down into the cradle of his hips and mouth his ribs. “Want to taste you,” Stiles breathes. “Want inside you, too.”

“We can do that.” Derek thumbs the corner of Stiles’s flushed mouth.

Stiles’s smile is bright. He bites Derek’s hipbone, pops the button of his jeans with his tongue. It’s expected when he laves the flat of his tongue above his pubic bone a second later. His hands are tight around Derek’s calves.

Gradually Derek realizes he’s stopped kitten-licking and the point of his tongue has become focused, precise. Letters. He grins helplessly, because it’s so Stiles, and caresses the nape of Stiles’s neck, bringing him in closer.

Having Stiles back has filled him all up with pack and home and another word, too, one he’s holding closer to his chest. He’s floaty, a little out of his head, and that’s why it takes so long for him to notice what Stiles is licking into his skin.

H

Stiles’s rhythm stutters. E-L. Stutter. P. Stutter. M-E.

Derek stiffens.

Then the pace becomes frantic.

H-E-L-P-M-E

H-E-L-P-M-E-H-E-L-P-M-E

H-E-L-P-M-E-P-L-E-A-S-E

“Stiles,” he breathes.

It laughs. Lifts its head. Lays its cheek on Derek’s thigh. “Doesn’t he have the sweetest mouth?” it asks, and smiles.


End file.
